


You know I'm such a fool

by wajjs



Series: Across The Universe (vld fics) [7]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Pining, Shangst Week 2017, shangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 22:10:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11322714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wajjs/pseuds/wajjs
Summary: And now my bitter handscradle broken glassof what was everything.All the pictures hadAll been washed in black,tattooed everything.—For Shangst Week 2017.  Day Three: Above/Below





	You know I'm such a fool

**Author's Note:**

> All the love gone bad  
> turned my world to black,  
> tattooed all I see  
> all that I am  
> all I'll be
> 
> The quote was a bit too long for a summary, but both parts are important for this story! They are lyrics from a Pearl Jam song titled "Black", I really really recommend that you give it a listen or that you at least read the entire lyrics! It was a huge inspiration for this story.
> 
> **Small warning** for (very short) mentions of blood. It's like, just one line, but I'm leaving this warning here just in case.
> 
> I didn't have time to proof read this, so if you find any kind of mistake, please let me know!

 

 

**You know I’m such a fool**

 

 

   Under so many shadows he thrives.  There are so many shadows above his head, and he is no greater man, he doesn’t know how to cope with that.  He looks up but they never look back, they never look at the ground under their feet.  But, you fool, why would they?  There’s no light coming from that inside.

   He’s used to it.  He’s grown used to being no sun in no man’s sky.  He knows he’ll never reach higher that the height of his shoulders.  Standing upright is impossible for him, nobody would ever want him to cast a shadow upon the rest.

   There’s no greatness behind his actions that he carries on the width of his back.  In the space between his broad shoulders no eyes will ever rest, no name in golden letters, no fame behind his smile.  Those are reserved for greater men, role models he’ll never be.  No matter how hard he strives to become a better man, how hard he works, the amount of things he has to sacrifice.  The truth is simple, it is etched onto his skin, neatly hand stitched to his bones, easy to read on the curve of his hips: he’s nothing but a lesser man.

 

   He’s lesser than the prodigies shining so bright, he’s lesser than his friends, and that’s a thought that keeps him up every night.  Somehow he made it inside the Garrison, somehow a man belonging to the world below managed to snatch himself a place amongst those coming from the world above.  And now he’s vicious and unforgiving.  He might have gotten in by chance and he wasn’t the best of the worst neither the worst of the best, but luck had smiled at him once and now he was going to fight for his chance to stay.

   He’s a lesser man, that’s why he doesn’t know when to give up and when to let his pride slide.  So he laughs and strives in his own way, fakes his own light.  He gives his best though he knows it won’t be enough, he’s no luminary, he’s no genius, he’s just himself, and he’ll have to make do.  Somehow, it would work out in the end, he knew.

 

   There’s a man he calls his hero.

   The man is one that has always been above him and will probably remain in that position forever.  He doesn’t question it, but he only partially accepts it, that’s why he works so hard to get noticed.  He pushes himself beyond his limits, he’s struggling against his bounds, people tell him he would never reach the skies but that isn’t going to stop him now.

   Perhaps if he were a better man he wouldn’t be so full of self imposed pride that can only shake in its weak foundations.  Perhaps if he weren’t a lesser man he could dare to look into his hero’s eyes without feeling like he’s gazing at something forbidden to him.

   It breaks his heart when his hero disappears.  Death evokes every whisper in the halls, every suspicious set of eyes, every demand for the truth.  Death.  Death.  His mother had once told him that heroes can never die.  Even if they are no longer there, heroes remain alive in the hearts of those who believed in them.  The memory of his mother’s words makes him feel like he suddenly has embers within his ribcage, rays of light filtering through the spaces between his ribs and seeping through his pores, making him shine, making him soar.

   He believes in his hero and he won’t let anyone sullen that memory, the sound of that voice, the shadow casted by his tall frame.

   And there are words growing inside him.  Words he never said, words he would only pronounce in dreams, proclamations of adoration and inspiration, of wanting to be equals, of wanting to be noticed.  These words grow more and more until they are clogging his lungs, until they are squeezing his heart, flowing through his blood torrent, spilling uninvited every time he opens his mouth to laugh.  

   These are words he could’ve said, words that would’ve probably been well received, but he is no greater man, so these words are the ones he held in the confines of his mind.

   Nobody has to know, he tells himself, nobody has to know that I would’ve done anything to make him look at me at least once.

 

°°

 

   His world crumbles with so easily said words.

 

   “Lance, right?”  His hero says, extending his open and welcoming hand towards him, and he blinks once, twice, his brain taking a moment to catch up on what was happening.

 

   How could it be that a lesser man such as himself hadn’t been forgotten?

   But he swallows past the knot lodged in his throat and smiles.  His own hand feels at home within Shiro’s gentle grasp.

 

°°

 

   “Lance,” Hunk sighs from his seat on the floor, not even looking at his friend as he continues tinkering with the small machinery Pidge had found earlier that day.  “You should tell  _ him _ , you know? Instead of gushing about how pretty his eyelashes are to me for, like, the seventh time in these last few days.”

   “What,” Lance groans as he rolls to lay on his stomach, the cold of the floor keeping him awake, “kind of faulty logic is that?”  He huffs, rolling his eyes as he rests his chin on his crossed arms.  “As if I could just—just go up to him and tell him: hey, I know this sounds super gay but, like, seeing your side profile when you smile does things to my knees?  I would really like to kiss your lips as in, right now?  How—How are they so pink, anyway.  And they seem to be so sof—”

   “Seriously, dude!”  Hunk laughs then, turning his head to look at the other, “This is getting ridiculous.  I forgave you at first when you refused to go confess saying it was just a silly crush, but you know… I don’t think it was ever  _ just  _ a crush.”

   “Don’t,” Lance’s voice holds a warning tone, “don’t finish that train of thought.”

   Hunk shrugs, returning to his machine, untangling sturdy looking wires.  “I’m just saying, man,” he comments idly, “that whatever reasons you have in your head that make you not do anything… maybe they were never right in the first place.  I think the two of you could be happy together.”

   But what if we aren’t, Lance doesn’t  dare to ask.

   What if a lesser man like me really doesn’t belong to be besides a man so great like the one Shiro was.

  
  


   “Shiro,” Lance asks and his voice sounds so soft, so  _ understanding _ , “are you sure you are alright?”

   He feels warmth spreading across his chest at the display of affection and care.  He looks at the other man barely a couple of centimeters shorter than himself and smiles.  Without realizing, his whole posture relaxes, his arms uncrossing and falling to his sides as he turns to face Lance properly.

   Idly, he wonders if someone had ever told Lance just how bright he shines.

   “I am, Lance,” Shiro says with a smile, allowing himself the guilty pleasure of touching the other as he rests his hands on a broad shoulder for a moment, giving it a slight (though reassuring) squeeze.  “Thank you for asking.”

   “Are you sure?” Lance insists, which only makes Shiro chuckle, endeared by the young man’s antics.

   “Yes,” he replies again, letting his hand fall from the other’s shoulder.  He immediately misses the shared warmth, but he knows he is undeserving of someone so great, so complete.  He knows that a lesser man like himself doesn’t deserve a man like Lance.

  
  


   There are words growing inside their lungs, clogging their chests, making their hearts feel tight in their squeezing grips.

   These words are unforgiving and unrelenting, there words are vicious yet hopeful.  Every action from the other means so many things and nothing at all, every smile is a gift enjoyed in the secret of memories and dreams.  

   These words torment them with each battle.  Each moment they are about to go off like a candle during the heat of battles reminds them of the stupidity behind their stubborn silence.  So many  _ I should _ -s,  _ if only I could _ -s,  _ if he could only see _ -s.  Every dream turns into thorns that dig onto backs and knees.  And now is not the right time as it wasn’t yesterday and as it won’t be tomorrow.

   Such a fool.

                      Fools.

                                 Fools.

  
  


   And then he’s gone and it breaks him, those words break him, those memories of what could’ve been, they make him shatter into millions and millions of little pieces.  Pieces he cannot pick up without making his fingers bleed, each cut deeper than the last, digging into his skin and splitting it open.  Red blood drips onto the floor and turns into an ocean with the aid of his tears, and he can only watch as his pieces float away from his reach.

   The lights inside his chest one by one disappear within themselves, leaving him empty and gasping for something that never was.  He’ll be back, he tells himself at night.  He’ll be back he’ll be back he’ll back.

   If only he weren’t a lesser man.  If only he were a better man he would know when to let go.

   There are words written hastily onto the expanse of his back, atop his burn scar, marking him as a changed man:

There is no nostalgia worse than yearning for what has never ever occurred.

   Hunk’s eyes tell it all.

_  I told you so. I told you so. _

 

°°

 

   During sleepless nights he sometimes goes to Black.  The lion is massive and scary at first, but he has nothing to lose and nothing to gain, so he swallows his apprehension and sits on the floor facing her, blue eyes red rimmed, veins across his face evident with the strain of holding back his cries.

   And he talks.  He lets go of those words that have always been within himself for all those years, he lets go of them and once he starts the words turn into an ocean that won’t ever let them go.

   He tells Black about how he knows he is no great man.  He’ll never be the best, he’s lucky to be second to anything even though that is something he hates.  He tells Black how much he loves Blue for choosing him first, he had never been first before, he tells Black that he still loves Red because Red  _ knows _ , Red  _ understands _ , and sometimes, when he misses his older sister, Red is the closest he has to her.

   He tells Black about home.  About his family, about the Garrison, about how he always falls away from the top no matter how hard he tries.  He tells her about how he had always seen Shiro as his hero, how Shiro has always inspired him to continue trying.  He tells her through thick tears how he had always loved Shiro even though he would never be at his same level. Even though he would always be below.

   He says: “I should’ve told him anyway, Black,” in between sobs, pulling his knees to his chest and hiding his face from the outside world into the palms of his hands, “I should’ve told him, I had nothing to lose.  I’m such a fool, Black.  What do I do now? What do I do.  I don’t want to turn bitter, I don’t want to hate all my  _ could have _ ’s,  _ would have _ ’s, I don’t want to listen to that part of me that tells me this is all I deserve.

   Am I truly a lesser man?

   Am I truly the one that will keep pulling everyone back?

 

   And Black listens.  Listens and listens with ageless patience.

_ Shiro loved you too, Lance _ , Black says.  And it only makes Lance cry harder.

 

°°

 

   Such a fool.  You’re such a fool, boy.

   If only you would look his way when he looks at you, if you would move past what you’ve made yourself believe.  Then and only then you would see… you would see the star you are to him.  The star you were always meant to be.

 

°°°

 


End file.
